No U-Turns Allowed

This morning, at the last minute, we had to cancel the planned trip to the Pacific beaches we had been so looking forward to experiencing. In the wake of the monstrous earthquake that recently devastated parts of Chile, warnings had been issued for a tsunami that threatened the western coast of Central America. We had arranged to borrow the Es Artes pickup truck and already had our overnight bags packed in the back seat when we received word of the danger.

Truck keys in hand, we decided we might as well take advantage of the situation. Frank suggested we drive down the long steep hill to the nearby port on Lago Suchitlan. We had already made the trip on foot and didn't need to prove anything by repeating that hike. Maybe a boat trip would take some of the sting out of our disappointment.

Upon arriving at the sharp bend in the road that leads to the right and down to the tourist centre and concrete boat ramp, we noticed another road veering slightly off to the left and over a hill. Not in any hurry, I decided to steer the truck that way and see where it led. The initial stretch was lined with expensive homes mostly hidden behind impressive gates. After a bit, the road began to descend sharply into the valley and the quality of the houses followed suit. As the road grew steeper and narrower, we began to have misgivings. With no place wide enough to turn around, continuing downward seemed to be the only option. The brakes were holding up better than my nerves as the prospect of finding a turn-around spot grew dimmer and dimmer. Eventually the twisting and turning cobbled road simply ended and became an unused footpath through the wooded ravine.

Only one choice remained now: backing up the hill to a wider spot. After nudging the shift lever into reverse, I eased out the clutch and applied some throttle. With most of the weight of the truck bearing down on the front wheels, the well-worn back tires immediately started to spin on the slippery cobblestones and we made zero progress. My palms were becoming moist by this point, and it wasn't just due to the heat. A second attempt with more gusto only made the tires spin faster and we could smell the acridly distinct aroma of burning rubber. We could always walk home to the hotel, I thought, and I hadn't wrecked anything yet; but the prospect of telling Tito and Tatiana that their truck was in the ravine was more daunting than the hill.

Pushing in the clutch and relaxing the brakes, I deliberately let the little Nissan roll as far forward as I dared, even though that meant we were practically in the woods. With my right arm stretched across the top of the seat and my neck twisted into a pretzel to allow a better view over my shoulder, I willed the truck back up the hill, the rear tires screaming, scrabbling for traction on the smooth stones. The curves were coming up fast, but I had to maintain precious momentum by keeping my foot to the floor as we bounced and lurched drunkenly backwards up the hill. Finally, we reached a place on the road wide enough to get the nose pointed in the right direction. Seconds later, we passed another truck barreling down the hill. They say timing is everything. Had the other truck arrived at one of those blind curves just a few moments earlier, this story might have had an entirely different ending.

And what is the ending? We drove down to Puerto San Juan without further adventure. Unable to negotiate a reasonable rate on a boat tour, we walked along the shore and watched a couple of farmers repairing a barb wire fence that reached out into the lake. A dozen cows grazed on the scruffy grass and weeds. Judging by the number of cow pies festooning the ground on the public side of the fence, there had been a prison break, and it hadn't been recent.

Back at our own ranch, we enjoyed the sun for awhile, walked into town to buy some bananas and the last two loaves of bread at the bakery, and then spent the remainder of the day in blissful indolence. We failed in all our attempts to find live coverage of the Canada/USA hockey game and had to rely on CNN and CTV web headlines to keep us up to date. Ironically, it was the BBC online service that provided the joyful news of Canada's victory.